Of threads & treason
by Aoi Akiko
Summary: Diethard, in following Zero's orders of getting uniforms ready for the Black Knights Rescue operation, *and* a million Zero suits for the SAZ, turns to his supposed-sister for help. No pairing, original character, OOC and weirdness in store
1. The disgruntled seamstress

I fully understand how ridiculous this piece will sound, but I couldn't get over the fact that R2 had a *whole* lot more costumes than R1... And while I'm no giant fan of Diethard Ried, it would seem logical that if Zero-_sama_ required a whole lot of new uniforms made, he'd know where to get them... I apologise in advance how OOC everyone would be, but the main idea is, really, how to get a million Zero suits for the Second Establishment of the Special Administrative Zone of Japan _. Oh, and I role-played the character of 'disgruntled seamstress' and 'overworked caterer' as I watched R2 develop, ahaha!

Enjoy...

And for the record, no, I do *not* own Code Geass; if I did, Annaliese would've made her appearance already, and she'd be a lot more interesting than Ms. Alicia Lohmeyer, blah-legal-advisor with bad hair...

* * *

><p><strong>Of threads &amp; treason<br>(aka :: what happens when Zero asks for new uniforms)**

"Annaliese[1], I love you…!" an overly large image *exploded* onto her screen as an extremely enthusiastic voice intruded upon the quietness of her workroom; she toppled from her chair and winced as, consequent of her fall, half her workspace followed suit – scissors clattering as sewing needles scattered gleefully all over the floor, bouncing this way and that and swirling round and round and round about their heads…

She glared at the image, blaming the other for her present predicament (and asking herself, *why* oh WHY, did she not invest in _magnetic_ needles, for goodness sake…!)(it was all their mother's fault, really… something about tradition and heritage and the magnificence of using _BONE_ needles), "_*What*_ do you want, Diethard…?"

"A favour…" the beaming idiot replied, sweet and saccharine; he was practically bouncing in his seat, excited about what he would discuss next, "Remember our bet, Annaliese? On who would end up working for the most influential people of the world?"

She huffed and tossed her hair haughtily over her shoulder, "Has riding in a windowless media van finally deoxygenated your brain, dear brother? Be reminded that *I* designed the Imperial Robes of Britannia, from Crown Prince Odysseus to Princess—YOU DIDN"T DARE…!"

Her brother, six years older and the bane of her existence, apparently *did* dare, taunting her over the communication network with photographs of his latest escapade – gallivanting with the infamous Black Knights.

"Yesterday's news, Sis 'aliese – you _design-ED_…" he incited, the past tense drawn upon with superfluous emphasis. "Me? I'm _currently employed_ by the world's greatest celebrity—"

"Master Zero is *not* a celebrity…!"

"Meh, and Prince _ODYSSEUS_ is…?"

"Britannia vs. cannon fodder, dork…"

"No, Britannia vs. _THE REBELLION_, missy…!"

"… are you calling from the Chinese Federation just to waste my time arguing, Diethard…?"

"No, Sis 'aliese…" the man parroted straight from their shared childhood, clearing his throat and straightening his jacket. He grinned smugly, "As I said, I need a favour…"

Despite their differences, she did love her brother – even if she found odd ways of showing it (when he'd called to tell their mother he was switching his major from Law to Mass Communications, she'd smoke-bombed his rooms until he switched back to Law again – else leave their mother heartbroken)(of course, when he'd called six months later to say he was working for Hi-TV straight out of university, she'd broken into his apartment to make him swear he'd make it 'big' – blacked eye and bruised shin included).

She also knew that her brother wouldn't have called unless he really, really needed her (like the time he took it into his head to produce a mini-series on the history of Britannia – and *she* ended up sewing _ALL_ the costumes for the production)(truth be told, she was grateful – for Prince Clovis himself ordained a full set of uniforms be made for the entire Imperial Family).

Nevertheless, she wondered what sort of favour he would garner *this* time, seeing as she was only a designer-patternmaker with a penchant for extravagant embroidery – and he was clearly in some high-stakes political gambit… Unless—

"Please don't tell me you're doing another historically-accurate-documentary[2] again…!" she moaned, hiding her portfolio lest he catch onto any ideas; he shook his head, "Nono… at least, not yet…"

*That* did not necessarily make her feel better…

"Do you still have that industrial-style contraption in your backroom? You know the one – four tonnes of steel and eight miles of wiring and the like—" he had the grace to quiet himself at her fresh glower, for the so-called _contraption_ was her favourite – who cared that it was practically an antique? It did good work and that was all she ever wanted out of a metallic hunk-a-junk. He sent over several draft specifications, "I need you to tailor military uniforms…"

Spectacles perched and business-face made ready, she stared down at the smaller screens of her personal computers, glancing through the covert files. The names and faces of each were erased, of course, but she cared little for them, understanding the price of confidentiality; all she really needed were measurements – of height and weight and shoulder-to-chest vs. waist-to-hip ratios…

"Fine," she groused, pulling her chair to her table, ready to start converting his diagrams into pattern-designs for her pet machine; she began tallying the number of units he required, not liking how they added up past the three-digit mark. When her brother claimed a bet – he *claimed* the lot…! She sighed, "And when do you need them ready?"

"Let's say… oneweekfromnextTuesday?"

She counted backwards on her calendar. Beat.

"That only gives me 11 days…!"

The other pressed a kiss to the corner of the screen, "I know—thanks—good-luck, Annaliese—I love you!"

"_*DIETHARD*_!"

* * *

><p>In her brother's defense, he was at least considerate enough to send her bales upon bales of military-approved material, sufficient to outfit a small army (something inside her finally clicked – oh stars, her brother was actually *with* the <em>REBELLION<em>…!). Attached to the first shipment box was a note,

_These are of Lady Rakshata's patent. They're water-proof, fire-proof, semi-bullet-proof, but most importantly, Annaliese-proof (evil laugh). Use it wisely…!_

She trembled with ill-contained rage at his wisecrack; yes, she could be clumsy with her coffee and tea (and _vino_ and wine), but to coin it _Annaliese-proof_…?

"I could hate you…!"

_Remember I love you…!  
>Signed, Diethard<em>

* * *

><p>"Annaliese, I love yo—"<p>

She smacked him upside with her stainless steel document holder, not caring for the armed guards—or should they be called Knights? This was *her* idiotic brother, after all – the one who forced her to hermit herself in the confines of her workroom for 9 days without sunshine, surviving on stale saltine crackers and triple-black coffee (she'd resorted to downing sugar by the tablespoon before the end of it, too). If he had called her to be brought here, he must've at least explained to his superiors where her loyalties lie – thus the guards / Knights shouldn't have to worry about her turning _terrorist_ on *them*.

They snickered. Ah, so sibling rivalry was also a common trend amongst the rebels…

"I've bloodied sixteen fingers[3] over you," she hissed as they pushed forward again, down endless hallways and into—what, she hadn't the slightest clue, for she'd been blindfolded and *carried* into her transport and frisked upon arrival (she'd refused to apologize to the faceless guards / Knights, brandishing aforementioned document holder like a sword, citing indignities)(they'd teased that if she wasn't so good with handling threads, would the _higher ups_ train her to be a _ninja_?). She grumbled as he caressed said bandaged fingers contritely, "The next time you want to thank me, skip the drama of kidnapping me and just send chocolates, okay?"

"Be that as it may, Sis 'aliese, *I* wasn't the one who sent for you," heaven blessed her brother with such a winsome—yet somewhat arrogant—smile; if she hadn't been surrounded by a circling of guards / Knights (wearing *her* uniforms, by the way), she'd hug him then and there. She blinked back her glassy eyes when she acknowledged he was still talking to her, "Master Zero wants to see you."

She froze in her tracks (the guard bringing up the rear bumped into her, immediately delivering a torrent of apologies)(she wondered if he'd been the one who frisked her before; a sharp look to his bruised temple, and she was convinced she was right).

"*THE* _Master Zero_?"

"Greetings, Lady Annaliese," said _Master_ welcomed her into his… office / study / war room? She staggered warily past its threshold, noting with small relief that her brother stood beside her, but her escorts promptly left to their own devices. Her first observation was that she needed to make adjustments to the lime-haired girl's uniform (she never intended to make the slits so _high_)(unless she *liked* it that _high_)(oh…? Oh…! Ah—hmm…); her second observation was—

"Aemilius[4] Raine," she exclaimed.

"I beg your pardon?" the smooth lilt of the masked man inquired, head tilted very slightly.

She pointed to the parts she could see under the regal (and utterly _ridiculous_) cloak he wore, "The man who kitted you your attire was Aemilius Raine."

The leader of the rebellion threw his cape aside (in an alternate dimension, Edna Mode sneezed and instinctively cursed) with a flourishing hand, revealing a sleeve and a whole right side, "You are acquainted with the man's work?"

She raised an eyebrow blandly, "I should be – I was his apprentice for eight years…" Quieter, more to herself than to him, she frowned, "Though he didn't have to _retire_ me – just because *he* was retiring, the wretched nerve…!"

If she could see beyond his mask, she would have seen him smirking – Diethard's sister was as passionate about her work as the brother was, just in different aspects…

"Sit," he gestured, seating himself into a high-backed chair – crossing his long, long legs, steepling his long, long fingers (her eyes made approximate measurements – gaddeth, this man was lanky; did he ever eat? His waist to hip ratio bordered emaciation…!). His right-hand _woman_ draped herself casually over the arm of his chair, "We thank you for your excellent work. A true miracle-worker – befitting, as we need miracle-workers in our line…"

Her hard façade of quick tempers and frightful tantrums faded, seemingly disassembled in the presence of this grand authority; the taller one beside her, however, was grinning like the fool who swallowed the cat who swallowed the canary – his pride for her was appreciated… his over-inflated ego tied to it was not…

"Just… doing what I do best…" she faltered, gripping the cylinder in her hands.

"And we will need your best now," the rich accent of his voice must've addled her brain somewhat, for she felt strangely giddy-happy at his praise.

Of course, she did not know the true reason behind his honeyed admiration, "I want you to reproduce the Zero suit…"

She nodded obligingly; her thoughts, of course, were to study the finer details of Aemilius Raine's work – _streamlined silhouette, flamboyant cuts, distinctively unattainable pattern-work_…

"Alright – how many?"

"A million."

"A millio—" she repeated and squawked when the implication sunk in, "_A *what*_?"

"Diethard assured me of your dedication…"

"B-but… _One *MILLION*_?"

"We will provide any manner of assistance, of course…" he rose to stand before her, extending a hand as if in invitation, "Ah, and I will require it by the end of the month…"

Her eyes flew open as clashing thought-bubbles tumbled through her overtaxed brain: _One million—How many zeroes?—no, *Zero* suits—Mass, mass production—Aemilius' work—End of the month—Eighteen days?—I…_

She pitched sideways and sagged onto her brother's shoulder, whimpering as she slipped away from all consciousness. Diethard glanced sheepishly at his Master, "Sorry, it'll take a while for her to come to terms—"

Zero, despite his imposing aura, could still be human; he patted the girl's head – the whimpering stopped. Diethard was impressed—no one could ever quiet his sister, not even he.

"See to her needs, but remind her of its importance – tell her she is the keystone to my success in this era of revolution…"

So many pretty words…

"Yes, Master Zero."

And as the doors slid shut with a hiss, the elder leaned down to kiss the younger's cheek, "Annaliese, I love you…"

* * *

><p>By the 17th day, upon her 999,962nd uniform, she hit the impossible wall – she had run out of cloth…<p>

"_Dieter_[5], what am I going to do?" she wailed into the communication screen, assured of his extreme measures of utmost security (Zero might have her head if the neighbours suspected her of aiding a known terrorist)(she was running out of space to hide the ostentatious outfits, piles upon piles of them packaged into her closet, under her sink, and yes – even her emergency generator room…!).

"… tear down the curtains?" he suggested carelessly.

"Diethard, I'm serious…!" she shrilled, stabbing her sandwich with a pair of pinking shears (elsewhere on the table, a bottle of orange juice finally suicided itself over the edge of the table, having been staring at the floor for over three days). She slumped into her chair, clearly distressed – for she had hardly eaten over the last ten days (saltine crackers didn't deliver themselves)(neither did coffee or sugar, it seemed, despite her reminding her fridge to do so), had slept even less (she hadn't touched _sunshine_, let alone any _moonshine_). First, her needles happily frolicked and presumably drowned themselves amongst the sea of embroidered cloth… then, her sewing machine – nicknamed Poppy v2.365½ – suffered a massive mechanical attack, forcing her to switch to its more modern descendent – Snips, the thread eater… Now *this*!

"… want me to bring bon-bons?"

Not looking up, she nodded miserably, "E.U. Belgian-made, please – the ones with cherry liquor in them?"

"Only the best for my little sis…"

True to his word, within the hour, he was there with a half-dozen _stack_ of boxed chocolates (she blinked and stared up at him and numbly asked if he wanted to persuade or poison her). She didn't ask where he'd gotten the chocolates from; and frankly, after her eighth, she really didn't care… Her worries dulled by alcohol, she sobbed into his arm at the prospect of failing _Herr Null_, half-slurring in native German and mixed Britannian and broken Elevenese / Japanese…

When she woke up, she was properly tucked into her bed, her hair plaited into loose braids – no doubt by her brother (she felt like she was six, at home with their mother, waiting for winter to break). Aforementioned brother had slept in the hard-backed chair beside her bed (usually reserved for her pet pin-cushion, recently promoted to Bone Needle Guardian, lest she lose them all again)… She touched his knee; he stirred…

"Did you sleep, Sis 'aliese?"

"A little…"

"Good," he stretched and winced; his back creaked and groaned. He checked his watch and massaged his neck, "Master Zero has a surprise for you…"

She threw him a forlorn look, "… he'd accept the order with 38 uniforms short…?"

He shook his head with a grin, "Even better – look…"

Beside his chair was a fresh set of familiar colours – all six bolts of them (with twice the blue for the suits). She gasped and hurried towards them like a litter of kittens, pulling and purring against the silken surface, "But how…?"

"Do not doubt the power of a god[6]," he murmured, poking her forehead. "Or your brother, for that matter – I've also negotiated an extra twelve hours added to your dateline…"

So what? She was feeling like she was six, after all—she pounced upon him and held him tight, "You're the best, _Dieter_…"

He sighed, "What can I say? Annaliese, I love you…"

* * *

><p>She watched the live telecast with the world: as one million Elevens  Japanese donned her masterpieces and boarded the ice-berg floating island and sailed away, away, away…

And as the news flew into an uproar about how the Knight of Seven, Suzaku Kururugi, had allowed the rebels to escape without a single protest, all she could think about was how *fortunate* it was that no guns were fired—

"No holes, costumes whole – all safe and sound, my precious babies…"

—only in her dreams, lasting a week-and-a-half, would she remember her brother saying goodbye to her as he left with the last container of clothes…

_Stay safe, Diethard…  
>Remember I love you…<em>

* * *

><p><span>Notes<span>

[1] Annaliese :: This is, in part, a dedication to someone whose name sounds familiar; initially, I had her named Emmaline / Sis E'line, because it meant 'workaholic'...

[2] Historically-accurate documentary :: I'm assuming Diethard is *still* recording all of Zero's movements for his 'upcoming' series - coming soon on the History Channel (mad cackle)

[3] ... bloodied sixteen fingers... :: I did this, too...! First time I used a sewing machine to stitch my own handbag and ended up with bandages on both hands, with an average of two per digit _

[4] Aemilius :: Wordplay again...! The technical definition for this word is 'rival'... I wanted to have Annaliese rival Aemilius in a sewing challenge, but my brain refused to cooperate and produced this instead... So I made Aemilius her mentor, or something...

[5] Dieter :: ... is supposed to be pronounced 'Dee-ter', not 'Diet-er' (he isn't fat, he doesn't need to diet _); I looked up his name, too... it means 'strong man of the army', hmm - what weight does that hold for Lelouch & the Black Knights? o.O

[6] ... the power of a god... :: An off-quote by Lelouch, where he states that Diethard's mission is to make Zero the symbol of a god, hence would be easy to predict / control (as explained to Kallen, R2 ep9). I like the fail-safe-ness it provides in the fiction world - when in doubt, Zero will deliver, because nothing is impossible for Zero (mad laughter)

* * *

><p><span>Miscellany rants<span>

Originally, I had written Annaliese as Diethard's elder sister, but then, he wouldn't be able to get away with babying her. I also had several ideas penned but thrown out, such as :: (i) Annaliese battling Rakshata because Rakshata took her sewing machine apart, (ii) Zero giving Annaliese a small crew (including Tamaki) to help her, but fails to realize they (read: TAMAKI) can't sew a stitch, to which she abuses them by forcing them to press and iron every Zero suit TWICE, (iii) as revenge and brother-sister-rivalry, Diethard smokebombs Annaliese's workroom, making the uniform-colours run (hence explaining why the Zero suits aren't identical in colour; a little monochromatic blue, purple, gold-brown or green)(see R2 ep8 when the million Zeroes turn up). Oh well, I liked this better, in some ways... And really, I just fancied something sweet...

The running gag / punchline / theme through this is "Annaliese, I love you". It became more and more endearing as I got to the end... In the end, I ended up liking the Annaliese-Diethard interaction, even if they're not...! It gave Diethard a chance to be more-than-his-usual smirk-y, having to drag a disgruntled-seamstress-sister into the mix...  
>(apologies for die-hard Diethard fans)(ooh, double wordplay...!)<p>

... wondering if I should write another, this time on designing SuzaLulu's emperor and knight attires... Annaliese may hate embroidery after ("Eyes? Why did it have to be _EYES_ for goodness sake?")

R&R, thanks


	2. The love of a sister

I never wanted to put this up; mainly because **Chapter I** was pure insanity, and **Chapter II** was written only for our own enjoyment (read: Anne, I know you're out there)(ahaha)... But that one soul that liked my Annaliese decided I should at least give her proper closure - so here it is, 'closure' so to speak...

The running gag in **Chapter I** was Diethard's _Annaliese, I love you_; the running gag in **Chapter II** would be Annaliese scolding back _Dumme Diethard_ (german for 'stupid Diethard')... As I said, I know this will not be a popular story for two reasons: (i) not many ppl are die-hard Diethard fans (oops, punny name), and (ii) Annaliese is not real – and this is a semi-Annaliese-esque story... So I'd take it, however it goes; after all, I write for myself, not necessarily for the masses, lalala~~~

Yes, this should be the epitome of a brother-sister story; I'd like to think it fuzzy-peaches-sweet...

_Italics for past, _normal script for present, [square brackets] for spoken German (because I'd Google-Translate it, but I don't trust the grammar)...

* * *

><p><em>He called in the middle of the night and said, "Annaliese, we need to talk."<em>

_His usual greeting conspicuously absent, she shot out of her bed, instantly awake, "Diethard, what's wrong…?"_

"_The situation with the Black Knights has… changed[1]…" he faltered badly, as if he was shaking; she panicked, "Where are you, Diethard? Come home…! Whatever it is, we'll—"_

"_Zero might contact you; your card was the only thing he stole…" he spoke as if he did not hear her, distant and distracted; she shrilled louder, "Diethard…! Don't you dare hang up without telling me where you ar—" _

"_Take care of him for me, Annaliese – you may be the only one who can…" he hesitated, then kissed the receiver; her insides knotted, sensing this would be his forever goodbye,_

_[I love you, Annaliese; never doubt, never forget…][2]_

_*click*_

"_Diethard…?" she gasped disbelievingly, the single tone from the other end mocking her efforts… She crumpled to the floor, phone yet attached to her ear; she pounded the carpets, [__Dumme Diethard…! Don't leave your Annaliese, please… please… please…]_

_It was then, and only then, she began to cry…_

* * *

><p><em>She felt ill; this feeling of not-knowing, it tore her apart… not-knowing if her brother was alright… not-knowing if she should look for him… not-knowing how or even where to begin—<em>

_Her brother had never been truly far away, despite the physical distance between them; she had grown up knowing he was always there – and he never, never missed the chance to tell her he loved her: no matter the occasion (like the time she'd been engaged to be married [3a]; to which her then fiancé had to re-confirm *one* more time that her brother only loved her, and wasn't *IN* love with her), no matter the situation (like the time she'd *just* passed her driving exam, and he'd surprised her in the backseat of her car with a picnic basket [3b]; she'd resorted to banishing him from *any* vehicle if she ever had to drive it), no matter the circumstance (like the time she'd messed up the funeral arrangements for their mother, resulting in her being cremated instead of buried, her ashes scattered instead of collected in an urn; she'd bawled her eyes red, her throat raw… he'd just bundled her into his long arms and told her 'mother forgives you and likes this better anyway')…_

_On the fourth day, she sobbed anew; horrified at the thought that maybe, just maybe, her brother had been dying—or worst, already *dead*…!_

_[Why, brother? Why didn't you tell me…?]_

Thus it had been almost sweet relief to see a shrouded figure loom menacingly over her – ah, an archangel, come to separate her from her sibling-heartbreak at last…

_[Wait for me… Diethard…]_

* * *

><p>"… I dinna ask you to knock her unconscious…"<p>

"I didn't have to – she keeled over as soon as she saw me…!"

"… you did the thing again, didn't you?"

"What *thing*?"

"… the thing with your eyes – the Suzaku Kururugi™ Death Glare[4]…"

"I did no such—there is no *thing*! Besides, yours is so much more—"

"_Dumme Diethard…_"

"… I think she called you 'dumb'…"

"Are you sure you didn't *scramble* her brain?"

She fluttered her eyes open; heaven looked morosely like her living room, and its angels looked disappointingly human… She groaned, rather disillusioned by the austerity of it all – where were the fluffy clouds and feathered wings and golden showers? Shouldn't it have been her mother or brother who've greeted her upon arriva—

Her eyes went wide as she recognized the darker-haired youth standing over her; her hand fell on the only available defense within her grasp – her trusty, solid, *metallic* document cylinder…!

She held it threateningly in the air to whapped it over his head – and would have succeeded, if it weren't for the quick reflexes of the brunette, twisting her arms behind her, her interesting choice of weapon clattering to the floor—

_[Let me go!] _she snarled, very nearly snapping at the elder one's nose as she struggled in his younger counterpart's arms; she made a fearsome madwoman, with her scathing eyes and wild hair, screaming bloody murder, _[NULL! What did you do to my brother?]_

Amethyst eyes blinked; he searched his head for the scarce memories of his own brothers teaching him snippets of European before he was shipped off to Area Eleven / Japan. The only word he needed to understand, really, was _null_; "H-how?"

She hissed fiercely at him, but ceased fighting against the stronger lad, seeing as she had little muscle to rival him.

"You may be without your ostentatious disguise, _Herr Null_, but you'd be foolish to think me obtuse," she spoke in common at last, tone yet edged with steel; she conceded her discovery thus, "Your measurements gave you away…"

"… excuse me while I take precautions…"

Half-an-hour and three yards of ribbon later—plus one failed-Geass-attempt (failed, only because his partner did the *thing* to him, a whispered squabble of gibberish flying over her head)(something to do with the _Ragnarok Connection _and _Zero Requiem _and _you owe me a carton of Almond-crusted Pocky Deluxe!_)—he finally felt safe enough to begin…

He sat upon her plush chaise ("Vintage Rococo," he commented dryly[5a], "Circa 1750s…")(she snorted elegantly as his comrade-in-arms rolled his eyes heavenwards, "… show-off…") and crossed his extraordinarily long limbs, gesturing to the other to sit upon the scrolling arm to his right. An odd sense of déjà vu washed over her, the image of the masked messiah and his emerald-haired enigma ghosting over the Britannian youth and his Eleven / Japanese companion…

Sudden sorrow stirred in her heart – for the presence of the other's protector reminded her of the obvious absence of her brotherly chaperone… She drew a shuddering breath, tapping into her inner strength, born of her independence; leveling a cool glare at the darker-haired beauty, she questioned, "… where is my brother, _Herr Null_?"

He sighed, averting his eyes first; a heartbeat too late – she'd seen the flash of guilt and regret.

"Under Prince Schneizel's commission…"

She nearly wept with relief, for it answered the foremost question burning through her brain—her brother was not dead…!

"… I see…"

It also provided details she hadn't concerned herself with before; her brother had mentioned an upheaval within the Rebellion… Had the Master Zero turned against Black Knights, or was it the other way around? No, her brother's precise words were that Master Zero _stole her card_, thus favouring the latter explanation; why such foolishness, then, against the Deliverer of Area Eleven / Japan? Why now?

Wait—the United Federation of Nations was massing against the Britannian Empire… but neither would be complete without Master Zero (the miracle worker) or Sir Kururugi (the lancer Knight)… Master Zero was here (unmasked!) with Sir Kururugi (also out-of-uniform!) – supposedly-sworn enemies of opposing political factions – working together; it could only imply their loyalties were not necessarily to their respective allegiances—in-as-much-as-it-should—but to each other…

That meant there were now – not two, but *three* superpowers fighting for the world; she had kitted the first two armadas at least once in its establishment—

"… I've no more cloth," she said by way of understanding, fragmented pieces falling into place; wryly, she wondered how she'd been subtly snared into this fiasco in the first place, finally surrendering to the fact that Fate had a sadistic sense of humour – in the form of her madcap brother! She continued, "And upon your orders, I've also destroyed the patterns to making any and all of your previous uniforms…"

He smiled meaningfully – this was Diethard's blood-sister, indeed; it had taken her all of three minutes and eighteen seconds to puzzle everything out. "Let me worry about the resources; as for the designs…" he reached into his bag and handed her a sketchbook, "… it is fortunate, then, that I want new ones made from scratch…"

She stared critically at elaborate images, held steady upon her lap by a rather reluctant right-hand-man (seeing as she was bound by his doing; he'd forgotten whether he'd used dead-knots, and prayed fervently that her ribbons were not too precious to cut). She squinted to scrutinize the details (her spectacles harrumphed noisily from her crown, shouting uselessly to its mistress), meticulously planning the pieces required: _full body under-uniform (embroidered front), full body over-coat (embroidered lapels), full body outer-coat (embroidered back), revolutioneer's hat (embroidere—_

"Are you making an Emperor suit[5b]…?"

The two men startled – their secret plan had been found out (by a custom clothier, no less)…! While the taller one spluttered and choked _why_s and _how_s and _curse you, Diethard – your sister's an evil genius_ (that made her smirk), the tousled-haired one had better ideas—

_*plang~~~*_

"… I dinna ask you to knock her unconscious…"

"Don't you start that again…!"

* * *

><p>They'd chained her to her worktable, an iron-manacle about her ankle…! She glowered at it, perhaps hoping the heat of her glare may melt it through or make it spontaneously combust…<p>

… so she rebelled in her own little way, starting with a single word…

"_No_…?" he echoed, eyes wide with disbelief; one week to the most important day of his life, and he'd come down to find she'd nearly completed his order – his *low-priority* order. He slammed a fist into her worktable (making her machine swerve its line with a hiccup, and her accessories go *whee* *blam* onto the *ouch* floor), "What do you mean, _No_?"

"_No_, I have not started on your Emperor suit…" she repeated, busying herself with the trivial in-seam of some poor guard's pants ("Sorry, dear guard, but your Emperor thought you'd want a zig-zag line down your left butt-cheek…"); she did sigh and undid the whole thing, because—despite it all, d*mmit—she still had a reputation to keep. When he did not budge, she continued, "Nor have I started on Suzaku's suit, either; or C2's for that matter…"

He slapped the heel of his palm to his face, "Since when are you on a _first-name-basis_ with *my* Knight[6]?"

She paid him no heed, plucking the stray threads and realigning her needles, "Since Suzaku is nice to me – he brings me real food…" she waved to the small collection of untouched boxes on a random countertop, "I don't like Chinese take-outs; try bon-bons – Dieter always bribes me with bon-bons…"

"So *when* will you get to *my* suits?"

"Cherry-liqueur bon-bons, please; specifically the ones from Dominique Marcolini's original boutique store in Luxembourg…" she continued to ignore him as she calibrated some other contraption to stitch relief-patterns into the dark cloth. She knew she was close to winning when she heard him splutter like a scandalized servant—only to turn around and count to ten in six different languages; perhaps she should do something before he passed out, for he'd gone nearly purple with rage. "Check back in a week for your first fitting…"

"I don't have the *time* for fittings, _woman_ – I need my Emperor suit for the coronation…!" he argued, clawing through his hair (oh, those fingers were lovely), "What would you have me do, streak through the ceremony *naked*?"

She made a show of pausing, as if in deliberate consideration, "… now *that's* an idea—"

"Miss Ried…!"

"It isn't as if you don't have anything to wear; you should just waltz into the throne room in full Ashford garb…" she sniped back, hanging Royal-Guard-#1632773's uniform (headdress and face-shield included) onto a rack alongside its identical replicates; she reached over him to begin Royal-Guard-#1632774's main livery, arranging its matching gray trimmings, "Imagine the outrage: the Holy Britannian Empire outwitted by a mere _school boy_? And a disgraced Prince at that…"

An eyebrow raised, he stared incredulously at her; he had to admit, despite her animosity towards him, she was useful in providing timely advice… a sort-of Diethard stand-in, he supposed – blood *did* run thicker than water. He mumbled reluctantly, "… the notion has merit…"

"You're welcome…" she hinted as she hunched over her work – the coat sprouted sleeves as if by magic under her quick hands; so into watching her work, he'd almost missed her next remark, "You can call me _Annaliese_, if you like…"

She'd paused and turned slightly to acknowledge him, smiling serenely; he floundered for words, "… Lelouch… just Lelouch…"

"_Lelouch_…" she tested the name, rolling it off her tongue; she nodded once, "It's good to finally meet you, Lelouch…" then teasingly, she grinned, "Now go get me my bon-bons…"

"… fine…" he groused as he left her to meet her demands; but smiled nonetheless, for he was confident now that she was on his side and would do her best for him – and without the need for Geass. Then the smile turned into a chuckle; should he die come tomorrow, at least he'd die looking *good*…!

… he wondered what they had left in the kitchens – she deserved a home-cooked meal, after all…

* * *

><p>Nine days following his declaration as Britannia's 99th Emperor, she sent for him. Suzaku – in full Knight of Zero dress-attire – escorted him down; seeing his bodyguard, made regal in his new uniform, he could guess the purpose for this summoning…<p>

"She said I should wait here – something about needing to speak to you alone…"

He had been correct in his assumption; she sat waiting for him in her make-shift prison (still clinking her ankle chain). Its worktables had been cleared, replaced by dozens of boxes instead. They were all done up in ribbons leading to her hand; she could be as theatrical as he was with her craft…

"Your Emperor suits, as promised – twelve sets in all, excluding the boots," she gestured to the squares labeled with its content and number, each piece in its individual neat package. He nodded and stepped forward to receive them; she stopped him with a forward-facing palm, "Not so fast – I'd like to ask for something in return…"

He'd anticipated this, pulling out a cellophane-wrapped tray from behind him, "Cherry-liqueur bon-bons, as requested…"

She shook her head, "Not quite what I had in mind, but I appreciate the thought…" She directed him to a note on a nearby table instead; he relented, sliding the collection of confectionaries to read, if only to see where this was going.

Halfway through the note, he snapped back to her, eyes wide, "Annaliese, you don't mean—"

"I'm only being realistic, Lelouch," she replied, "In all honesty, would you have released me, without placing me under a Geass? If you commanded me to forget, then _which_ memories would you have asked me to forget?

"My kidnapping? Then you would've robbed me of my time, forever questioning the blank void of three months… My work for you? Then you would've robbed me of my pride, forever envious of a masterpiece *I* had made with my own hands… My brother? Then you would've robbed me of myself, for I would not be Annaliese without Diethard in my life…"

There was an edge of pleading to her voice; now that her work was done, there would be nothing to distract her from the hollow loss of her brother (ironically under the command of *his* brother)… He recognized himself in her eyes – he'd lived through it twice through, after all[7]; and so, he did not have the heart to deny her…

"You realize, Annaliese, the consequences of this request," he spoke carefully, folding the note as he approached to stand before her, "I cannot promise it will work – there may be no turning back…"

"What worries you, Lelouch? Is it the possibility that I would be so lost, I can never return?" she smiled now – a sweet, sorrowful smile; it made him think of Nunnally, then Rolo, then Nunnally again. "Or is it the possibility that my brother will never come for me?"

"Either. Both…" he took up her hand; it didn't shake, as he had expected it too. But it felt cold – he wondered…

"I am not afraid," she declared as she stared up at him, blue eyes bright; it was confirmation enough… He uncovered his eyes; she gasped lightly, drowning in the crimson power of kings—

"Lelouch vi Britannia commands you… may you slumber till your brother, and only your brother, calls upon his love for you[8]…"

She froze in his grasp as he sensed the familiar trickle of his power taking effect. The last he ever heard from her was a breathless _thank you_ before her eyes slid shut, him sliding with her as her strength gave out completely, crumpling to the floor as one…

He hadn't realized how, in the midst of his command, she'd handed him the ribbons leading to his destiny in a formal exchange; there, in his palm, sat a dozen ribbons, bundled together by a safety pin – with a note:

_For the sake of those lost – Annaliese Ried…_

Thus, it happened…

* * *

><p><em>I asked to be put under Geass until you return. When this is all over, you'll find me waiting. Come home soon… <em>

_Remember I love you._

_(ps: you should let him win – you and I both know it's only a matter of time…)_

* * *

><p>He hadn't thought it possible; a heartbeat before, he was watching Emperor Lelouch taunting Prince Schneizel through the screen… a heartbeat later, he was overcome by a low dosage of Refrain to his nape – not enough for insanity, but *just* enough for incapacitation…<p>

"D*mmit… Why didn't I see it coming?"[9]

He'd defected to Prince Schneizel because he believed _history was written by victors_ – and he'd believed the White King the superior victor… Had he been on the winning side all along? Had the Black King been the more deserving conqueror after all?

"You anticipated Prince Schneizel's thoughts… and recorded that conversation…"

… how ironic; how many times had he seen Zero do the same with his enemies – why should he assume Emperor Lelouch be any different? The boy could manipulate a man's fate with a strategic thought, could change a life upon the turn of a coin—

But Zero was chaos incarnate, and Emperor Lelouch would throw the world into turmoil – with the power of Geass, history itself would be mutable in the hands of a madman… His intentions to document the downfall of Britannia and the uprising of a new era would be for naught if it were to all crumble to ash for one boy-king's selfish desires…

"ZERO! Your story is finished – you never should've come this far!" he hollered, righteous rage unbridled, "You shouldn't even be alive, you bastar—!"

A shot rang out, the scent of smoking gunpowder assaulting his senses; dimly, he realized the gun in his hand shook too much to have been fired… It hurt to breathe, and he wondered if it were guilt or gunshot wound that made his heart ache—

His sister's lyrical laugh graced his ear, _I told you to let him win…_

He had the audacity to ask her, _Him? Him who?_

"What right have you to deny my existence? You have none…"

Her voice danced around him, much like his fading consciousness, _You know – *him* him…_

Had she seen something he did not? He knew she knew how to pick a thread of thought and weave its possibilities in the tapestry of time… Perhaps she'd known all along how the story would end… Perhaps she'd followed the lines closer to the truth and had jumped a step ahead of him… Perhaps—

_When this is all over, you'll find me waiting. Come home soon… _

No, his sister didn't care for all that… His sister only cared for the one thing that had never let her down.

"… Z-Zero… at least f-finish me… with your G-Geass, too…"

He wondered what Geass she'd been given; he wondered if he would receive the same…

"Sorry, Diethard, you're just not worth wasting my Geass on…"

He panicked; he knew he would die without it…! What would become of her…? How would he fail her…?

_Dumme Diethard_, she scolded quietly, an indiscernible whap delivered to the back of his head; as the gauzy haze of death settled upon him, his last thoughts were that somewhere, somehow, she would know… And somewhere, somehow, she was safe knowing he understood…

_Annaliese, I love—_

The world turned without him… but that was alright, because he had better things to busy himself with now…

* * *

><p>… in an underground room where promises were made, a masked man slipped a prepared needled into her arm; her fingers tightened about the locket in her hands, only to release it all with a sigh…<p>

He watched as she breathed her last, knowing that all would be well; for in the world of shades and shadows, her colours would stand for a lifetime – in the form of the suit on his back, her spirit bled into every stitch…

* * *

><p><em>What took you so long? <em>her brother grumbled good-naturedly as she floated clumsily past him, unused to the awkward wings she now possessed. She scrabbled to mess up his hair and growled back, eyes narrowed, _I could ask the same; Limbo wasn't much fun…_

_That's only because *I* wasn't in it_, he boasted, waggling his eyebrows at her; when she pouted, he reached out to pull her in a tight embrace, angelic status notwithstanding, _Annaliese, I love you…_

_Dumme Diethard_, she hugged back for all its worth, _Remember I love you, too…_

* * *

><p><span>Notes<span>

[1] Situation with the Black Knights have... changed... :: The best time to place this fic would be after Lulu escapes from them, on-board with Rolo (or according to my brother, Lolo ie. crazy & Roro ie. robotic person)

[2] Diethard & Annaliese speaking in German :: It came from Diethard's name (ie. very germanic in origin), hence I cast them both as Germans... And I'd like to think that their final conversation in life would be in their native language than anything else...

[3a] Annaliese, engaged to be married :: In an unrelated universe, Annaliese's fiance ran away because she was a workaholic (in her defense, it's in her name...!)(don't know what I'm talking about – read the notes in **Chapter I**)...  
>[3b] Annaliese, *just* passing her driving exam :: In an unrelated universe, my brother did this to me, sans picnic basket, on my *first* day out with a license... cost me a small fortune in repairs...<p>

[4] Suzaku Kururugi™ Death Glare :: Tell me you've seen this – it's every look of loathing he sends to Lulu, post-Euphie's death (sniff)...

[5a] Rococo furniture, circa 1750s & [5b] Emperor suits :: The only reason I took so long writing this wasn't because of a writer's block, but because I was researching every costume on R2 and trying to figure the era it came from... The Britannian Royals are Empire inspired, what with the long outer coats and military-style jackets (esp. Schneizel, Kanon & Cornelia), but Euphemia's is predominantly modernized gowns from late 1800s, hmm...

[6] Annaliese, on first-name-basis with Suzaku :: Initially, I wrote an interlude between Annaliese and Suzaku; it explores their understanding of Lulu – Suzaku, being the only child, understands a little of why Lulu would do anything for Nunnally (despite her being 'dead'), and Annaliese, having never known Lulu previously, understands his madness stems from his messed-up childhood (Freudian Law!)... Oh, and in it, Suzaku brings her peasant-style mushroom rice to compensate for Lulu's idea of dinner (chinese take-outs) and C2's idea of dinner (cold pizza)

[7] Lelouch recognizing himself in Annaliese :: I think only Lulu would understand Annaliese' pain, having lost Nunnally before; which was why I had Lulu be the last one holding her hand, even if Suzaku was the more sympathetic one...

[8] Reference to Sleeping Beauty :: Grimm's tales are folk-stories from Germany, something Annaliese would have grown up with; slightly different from the French version by Charles Perrault...

[9] Diethard's conversation with Schneizel / Lelouch :: ... I watched the scene on loop, 18 times... it became ingrained in my head... having to think of the 'why' he said what he said, in-line with this story, took another decade of my life (*ahem* two days)

* * *

><p><span>Miscellany rants<span>

Though there are no reviews (sadness is me), I liked how this turned out... The brother-sister dynamics as an analogy to Lulu-Nunna's relationship was fun to do, and the mini-research on clothes through the ages ever more so (I don't think I'd ever forget about Empire clothes, oy~~~). I thank my very diligent student for letting me bounce ideas off her head (many dents and bruises)...

And Jared, if you're reading this, I think you understand best why I did this, hehe... Let's hope I find more of you amongst my star-students, lalala~~~


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